


Off Day

by StAnni



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Complicated Relationships, M/M, Past Infidelity, Post-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 21:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17691500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StAnni/pseuds/StAnni
Summary: Eames is everything and at the same time he is not anything - the hollow rooms of Arthur’s heart as well as the blood that pumps through it.  They have done damage to each other that is irreparable and committed betrayals that, despite going unmentioned, cannot be forgiven.  Arthur reminds himself of this almost every single day.





	Off Day

Eames is everything and at the same time he is not anything - the hollow rooms of Arthur’s heart as well as the blood that pumps through it. They have done damage to each other that is irreparable and committed betrayals that, despite going unmentioned, cannot be forgiven. Arthur reminds himself of this almost every single day.

Yet, next to him, on the rumpled white sheets of the hotel bed, Eames rolls over with a stretch and a yawn.  
“Is there coffee?” Eames asks and drops his arm over his eyes, shielding himself from the morning light spilling through the cheap curtains. Arthur is working on his laptop, eyes intent on the screen – intent on not looking at the expanse of Eames’ chest tattoo or his naked, muscled thigh barely covered by the ruined sheets. “I’ll make some in a minute.” Arthur says, pretending to work.  
Eames gives one last groan and stretch before he gets up, sans sheet, sans any insecurity, and makes his way to the counter where the coffee cups, cheap plastic kettle and pre-mixed coffee packets are stacked on a tray. His ass is perfect as he bends over, a light bruise of Arthur’s fingers starting to form on the back of the left cheek. 

“These are the creamer-mixed-in kind…” Eames says, glancing back at Arthur who immediately returns his gaze to the laptop settled on his legs. “I could go out and get us some proper coffee, I suppose.” Eames finishes, dropping the packet with disdain.  
Arthur shrugs and shakes his head, “I don’t want any.”   
He can feel Eames’ eyes on him and he glances up. Eames is facing him now, in his full glory, and without a care in the world as to how it may affect Arthur’s inner equilibrium. Though, to be honest, that has been shot since last night.  
“What about breakfast?” Eames frowns and Arthur gives him a what-about-it look. Eames wants to get out of the hotel room, he wants to get dressed and do things – which is so quintessentially Eames that Arthur smirks. “It’s barely seven, James. Nothing is open yet.” 

Back when they were living together, years ago, this was the type of thing that started out as an endearing quirk – Eames’ restlessness – and ended up driving Arthur almost completely insane. 

Eames yawns again and reaches for his pants, and against Arthur’s disappointed frown – which he did not think Eames would catch – Eames sighs “I’ll take a shower later.”, completely, and thankfully so, misinterpreting Arthur’s reaction. Arthur huffs, slapping the laptop closed “Fine, but I’m taking a shower before we leave.” 

He is not surprised when he hears the dingy shower curtain slide open and feel the bulk of Eames’ naked body press against his back. Back when they were living together they used to shower together at first. Then it stopped. Now, whenever they are on a job together by chance (or by Arthur’s skillful manipulation) Eames joins in him the shower whenever he has the chance. “Saving water.” Eames breathes against Arthur’s neck as Arthur feels Eames jerk himself to hardness against the small of his back. 

It’s unusual for them to have a full day off in a job and the only reason is because the main extractor had to fly out to meet the client for a last minute go-through. It’s not the best team that Arthur has worked with and he wouldn’t have taken the job if he hadn’t have been able to convince the extractor to hire a forger. But if the price of working with amateurs is at least three nights with Eames, that’s fine by Arthur. Even if it does mean that his heart has to stand a full day of ex-time without a desk to dive behind.

Their bout in the shower which would usually leave Arthur relaxed, leaves him strung tighter than a bow – given the fact that they are not heading to a make-shift office but simply ambling out to spend a day together, and the drive around town to find a diner is awkward. Eames, however, doesn’t seem to notice and hums along with the radio, arm slung over the car door, window wide open. Arthur’s mind keeps going back to the bruise on Eames’ cheek, the way that he arched his back when Arthur slid his fingers up between the cleft of Eames’ ass. He doesn’t hear it the first time that Eames asks but his attention is whipped back, with irritation, when Eames snaps rudely in front of his face “Arthur, mate, did you hear me?”   
Back when they were living together he would have threatened, like he had hundreds of times before, to break Eames’ fingers if he ever snapped them again.  
“What?” He asks and Eames indicates to a diner coming up fast. “That one’s open.” Eames says.

The diner is grimy and small but, yes, open and they head inside – Eames grinning from ear to ear at the prospect of blueberry pancakes and pie. After Eames flirts shamelessly with the pretty young waitress, Arthur gets to order a coffee and she leaves with a wink to Eames.  
“Think I have my night planned.” Eames smiles lasciviously and Arthur grits his teeth as he closes the menu – his appetite lost. “Did I tell you about Fiona?” Eames asks, absolutely not reading the room and Arthur raises his eyebrows, disinterested “Fiona Kemp?” Arthur sighs and Eames chuckles, leaning closer “The lass is a wicked one.”   
Back when they were living together, Eames’ suspect definition of infidelity caused incredible discord between them. But now, Eames’ proclivity for any long-lashed brunette is simply something that Arthur has to bear.

They haven’t had breakfast, at least not it just being the two of them, out in public, in years and Arthur tries not to look at the way that Eames circles the syrup three times around his pancakes and catching the last stream with his thumb before licking it off. With a pang that is almost devastatingly sharp a memory he must have buried under all the arguments and debris resurfaces and it is of Eames, a smile breaking on his unshaven face as Arthur licks a smear of Swiss chocolate from Eames’ chin. For the first time in a long time, and what must be the worst time for Eames to get something right, Eames recognizes the look on Arthur’s face and his eyes soften in genuine concern – concern that Arthur, in the four years that they have been broken up, have not seen. “Darling, are you alright?” He asks, his hand moving towards Arthur’s in what must be a flash of habit. Arthur shakes it off with a shrug and clears his throat, taking a sip of coffee. “I’m fine, just...dejavu I guess.” 

On the way out Eames takes the waitress’ number and Arthur doesn’t wait around inside the diner like an idiot, but goes to the car, brewing as he waits inside. Like an idiot.

Eames suggests that they head back to the hotel, maybe take a swim in the pool – which combines an appealing suggestion (the hotel room) with an appalling suggestion (the hotel pool) and Arthur retorts that immediately. Eames chuckles and it is a warm sound and so familiar that it feels like literal sun on Arthur’s wounded ego. “What about we go to one of those old farm houses, for a tour or something?” Eames asks and Arthur looks at him, actually impressed “You want to break into a house on your day off?” Eames nods, clearly pleased with himself but sagely explains “Not to steal anything, love, you know, just to fuck.”   
Love. Arthur hadn’t heard that word in almost five, six years. It feels like a vice pressing on his heart and he looks away, suddenly not in the mood to play around, not in the mood for anything at all. “Pass.” He says and Eames is quiet, silent – characteristic of Eames when he is denied what he pleases and sulking about it.

They end up stopping at a country store, not because they agree to but because Eames is driving and he pulls over. Arthur gets out with a sigh and they go inside, still cloaked in the uncomfortable silence. Arthur doesn’t like quaint little stores, he doesn’t like the smell of candied popcorn and the look of creepy wicker trinkets. Eames, though, is in his element and his morose mood rapidly evaporates as he picks up a porcelain doll that is likely to be possessed by the devil. “I’m going to buy this for you, Arthur.” He teases and actually props the evil doll under his arm. Arthur rolls his eyes and keeps his hands in his pockets, careful not to openly frown at the layer of dust on the home made chocolate bars. At the counter Eames does, to Arthur’s horror, buy the possessed porcelain doll and tells the way-too-kind cashier lady that Arthur is going to be the doll’s new daddy.  
Arthur waits, patiently, as Eames counts out twelve dollars and outside, when Eames presents the doll with a smile, Arthur smirks a thank you and adds, just to fuck with Eames “Are you going to be my daddy, though?” 

To that they do end up back in the hotel room and Eames, hot with country sun and a little bit delirious from home-made chocolate, pushes Arthur face down on the side of the bed, already pulling out his belt as he orders Arthur in a gravelly whisper to pull down his pants.   
Arthur is into getting spanked, it is one of his favorite fetishes and Eames knows this, an avid fan of spanking Arthur (and probably any other long-lashed brunette) himself. The fact that they have done this so many times before, that Eames knows just how hard, how rough to get, makes it beyond satisfying and before Eames can lift Arthur up by the hips, spread his legs with his knees and finish the session off with wild, unabashed thrusts, Arthur is ready to come the second time. They end up collapsed in a heap, Eames smiling against Arthur’s neck – breathing hard – the sheets wet underneath Arthur’s groin. “I fucking miss this.” Eames exhales and Arthur stiffens beneath him – pushing up and away. “It’s too hot in here.” Arthur says, moving away from the bed – from Eames who is not looking at him, who is rubbing his face, embarrassed – “I’m going to the pool.” 

The pool is empty, thank fuck – because Arthur didn’t think about the belt welts on the insides of his thighs and he wades into the surprisingly clean water, cooling the burning skin underneath his underwear. It doesn’t take long for Eames to saunter up to the pool, but he doesn’t get in. He goes to sit on a lawn chair and lights a cigarette – a new habit that is about the only real thing that has changed about him since they were together. “How’s the water?” Eames asks and his voice is even – a tell that he is pensive, preparing for an argument. “Fine.” Arthur answers before he goes under – not wanting to get roped into a fight after the exchange in the hotel room.  
When he comes up Eames’ eyes are still on him – unreadable and almost cold. He looks away. “Why did you ask Mueller to hire me?” Eames asks and he could have asked that question days ago. He could have asked similar questions to that question for the past two years. Arthur pretends not to hear and wades to the other side of the pool, turns around and looks at Eames from there – far enough for him not to see the more painful details of the growing expression of disappointment on Eames’ face. His heart feels heavy. Eames means nothing and everything and he still lives and breathes for Eames. He still hates disappointing him.  
“Whatever happened to that lad of yours, Luke Saunders?” Eames asks, a little louder, and Arthur feels a sour twist in his gut before he bites back, resigned to the fact that he has been successfully goaded back into their pattern of destruction, “You mean after you fucked him while I was in Saudi?” and Eames, grins, actually grins, at the curdled turn of events.

Back when they were living together, years ago – there were bad days – many of them, but there were good days too. The days that were the worst happened after they had broken up. The first year was a dark, dark time and Arthur, twice, contemplated leaving dreamshare completely, falling off the grid and simply letting Eames have the entire territory they had to share. Eames could be the sun – he could make Arthur feel like he was the only reason Arthur was able to breathe, but he could be cruel too, desolate and calculating up to the point where it felt brutal.   
Arthur didn’t like to remind himself of that side of Eames, just like, Arthur supposes, Eames didn’t like to remind himself of the side of Arthur that finally decided to cut and run, the side of Arthur that gave up on them, that left.

Eames gets up from the lawn chair and moves to the edge of the pool, directly opposite from Arthur. His eyes are shadowed but he smiles, a paper thin fake smile, and inclines his head back to the rooms “Maybe we should have this out, Arthur. Clear the air once and for all.” He says, his tone deceptively light and Arthur leans his head back, the weight of the situation bearing down on him. It was just supposed to be a fucking day off.

“Fine.” Arthur answers and pushes himself up on the edge of the pool. Eames watches for a beat and then turns, heading back to the room – his stroll even and relaxed. 

Back when they were living together, or rather, before they decided to live together – back to their first dates, Eames had, as a joke, brought Arthur flowers. Arthur, surprising Eames, thought it was as charming as it was funny and returned the sentiment by giving Eames a flowered pocket square on their next date. A gift that Eames, in turn, found both charming and amusing. They were good at being good to each other, at first.

Eames watches television as Arthur showers the pool water off and Arthur is not surprised that Eames doesn’t join him this time. When he gets out Eames flicks off the television and looks at Arthur, expectantly. “Well.” He says in a way that immediately makes Arthur’s brain implode in silent frustration. “This was your idea, asshole.” Arthur retorts – done. Done with this shit, and he goes to sit on the edge of the bed, much happier staring at the dead television than Eames’ face.  
It’s an excruciating seven seconds before Eames finally speaks, nudging Arthur with his socked toe “Ever think about giving it another go, darling?” 

The reason why Eames is everything and why he is not anything at all, is because if you didn’t know Eames, if you hadn’t lived Eames and bashed yourself to pieces against what you think he wants only to find out that he never wanted anything at all – you’d believe him. Eames is a con-man, a thief, someone who pretends to be anything else than what he is. Eames is a liar. 

Arthur looks at him. Unfortunately, and despite the more treacherous parts of his heart, Arthur is not a liar. “I do.” He says, and then, exactly because he is not a liar, “But I don’t see a different outcome the second time around.” He makes himself watch Eames consider his response – makes himself watch Eames’ eyes flash with hurt and then regain that impenetrable veneer. “I’m sorry about buggering it up for you and Saunders.” Eames says, because he is still angling for a fight, because he is hurt and embarrassed and unlike Arthur the hurt and the embarrassment needs out, not in. Arthur shrugs, steeling himself against it this time – not biting again. “That wouldn’t have worked out anyway.” It’s the blunt and honest truth. It will never work out, not with anyone, if it didn’t work out with Eames.

Eames leans back, still a little tense, but Arthur can see that he is not going to take it further, that what they have – as scrapped and shitty as it is – is safe for now. “I’ve a date with that waitress.” Eames says after a while and Arthur looks away, shrugging on a shirt and allowing the new normalcy to settle in again. “You should take a shower first.” Arthur says, before he flicks the television on again.


End file.
